


Bound into darkness

by SkyOfDust



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fenders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyOfDust/pseuds/SkyOfDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is bound to it. <br/>It's eating his soul, feeding him fear and hatred.<br/>It corrupts, it hurts, it kills.<br/>Anders is bound to it.<br/>To the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So here is - another - story in which I intend to... well... Fenris and Anders. Together. Always. Because I can't help it.  
> I hope you'll like it, feel free to comment and share your opinions.

“I believe you have a destiny, Hawke. You were born to...”

“Oh Maker, tell him to shut up, please.”

Anders rolled his eyes and Sebastian shrugged, his bow still in his hand after the fight they didn't have time to take part in – Hawke had killed all the enemies with one fireball and a satisfied grin.

“How would you explain all this, then? How an apostate refugee, coming to Kirkwall, would rise like this, save so many lives, help so many people, if the Maker wasn't...”

“Circumstances. Coincidence. Will, even. It's Hawke's doing.”

“Perhaps.” Sebastian simply answered with another shrug.

“Then you can answer all the questions with a 'it's the Maker's decision', right? Why your family was murdered, why Fenris has no memories of his, why Hawke lost his father, his mother and his sister. Why Varric had to kill his own brother, why Isabela was sold by her mother, why Merrill was rejected by her clan, why my father turned me in and why Aveline had to abandon her husband. You can answer those questions? Tell me why!”

“So it can lead us all here and now and accomplish the Maker's will.”

“What's the purpose? I have no other purpose than the one I choose!”

Sebastian was about to respond but Hawke's hand squeezed Anders' shoulder while Fenris gave a pointed look to the archer.

“Maybe we could continue this later and get out of here?” Hawke said with a shy smile and a sweet tone.

Hawke had this something about him that made his companion follow him in the darkest places. So they just both nodded. Because Hawke required and to Hawke they obeyed.

“You don't really mean it, you haven't looked for treasures yet.” Anders commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed. What would Isabela say?”

Hawke smiled again and nodded, then pointed at Sebastian and Anders.

“Better to separate you. Sebastian, with me. Anders, you go with Fenris.”

“I don't go with the abomination!” Fenris said, crossing his arms.

“I don't go with the cranky elf. Sebastian can suffer his presence, at least. I'll come with you, Hawke.”

“No way. I have the feeling there are more enemies not far. Two mages? And who will prevent the rogues from stabbing us while we cast our spells?”

“May I say Sebastian is not a hand-to-hand combat professional either?”

Hawke simply shrugged but Anders knew better. While Anders stood far from the battlefield, casting spells to weaken the enemies so that a warrior would slaughter them, Hawke was in the middle of the fight, casting a fireball and then cutting a rogue's stomach. Anders knew how to use the blade at the end of his staff, but he was much of a better use far from the foes, where he could concentrate on healing spells while Fenris or Aveline would prevent the enemies from reaching him. It was this way for years now, it was pointless denying it. He was safer with Fenris than anyone else. Fenris and Anders? They just made a great team. Especially when Isabela was with them. But the pirate had had a… personal matter to intend – something Anders had helped her with by giving her some salve. Though he didn't doubt she would need more in the future.

“Come on, Fenris, let's find some gold so that we could leave this place.”

The warrior didn't answer but followed the mage as he turned on his heels with a deep sigh. Anders hated caves. Just as Varric. But the dwarf seemed more willing to refuse something to Hawke. Anders just couldn't say 'no' to the man.

“What was it all about, mage?” Fenris growled, his eyes locked on the apostate next to him.

“What are we arguing about again?” Anders said, lighting his staff so they could see where they were going into the caves.

He really hated narrow corridors, the smell of mushrooms, the heavy atmosphere, humid warmth surrounding him, smothering him. Just needed to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in… Maker, if his heart could stop hammering in his chest, maybe he would at least hear his own breathing.

Fenris didn't answer and Anders gave him a sidelong look after a few seconds of heavy silence. The elf was staring.

“What?” he almost yelled at the warrior.

Maker, the darkness. It was crushing him, drowning him. His staff wasn't enough. He needed the sun, the sky above him, the horizon before his eyes. He needed to get out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Fenris couldn't read the mage's expression in the darkness, but he could easily hear it for he had lived surrounded by it, tortured by it: the fear.

“You're scared” the elf stated.

“I'm not! Don't flatter yourself. You're not as frightening as you'd like to.”

“Then you're scared of the dark, perhaps?”

“Just shut up.” Anders replied, his body tensing suddenly at the teasing.

Fenris widened his eyes and shook his head.

“Ow, that's it! The renegade Grey Warden is afraid of dark!”

“I… but this is… Andraste's flaming ass.”

Behind the fear in Anders shaking voice, Fenris could feel the embarrassment. He would not tease further the mage with this. He was well aware of what fear was like. It was... painful. And he knew better than to laugh at someone else's fears. He too had his own.

“Fine. Let's just move on, then.”

He quickened the pace and Anders followed him, his heavy breath echoing in the cave. They finally arrived at the end of the corridor, entering a small room where they found deep mushrooms and old crates. With a silent nod, they went apart, Anders going to pick what he'd need and Fenris searching for anything valuable. He lit up his markings so he could see without Anders' staff and he heard the mage sigh in relief before he walked away, letting him in the semi-darkness again.

“I need a more powerful staff” he mumbled as he shoved the mushrooms in his bag.

Fenris raised an eyebrow but didn't look back as he made his way between the crates, the torn clothes, the rubble and the bones. He found a skeleton with all its clothes on and grabbed the hands. He smiled as he found two rings: Hawke would be satisfied. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. He pushed aside the skeleton, to find a staff, covered in dust and spiderwebs. He glanced at the healer not far and sighed, before he grabbed the weapon.

“Mage. I got something for you.”

“For me? If you intend to mock me and joke about...”

“No. It's a gift. I would have no use of this.”

“What about Hawke?” Anders asked as he walked toward Fenris, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

“I don't think he'll be upset if you keep this one. It doesn't seem valuable.”

Anders widened his eyes as he stared at the weapon in the elf's hands, lowering his own staff to drop it on the floor. Immediately, the light faded and only Fenris' markings were illuminating the cave. The blue glowing had something very beautiful and poetic and the mage didn't realize he was staring at the lyrium tattoos until Fenris cleared his throat. Anders blushed and grabbed the staff, examining it.

It was a bit longer than his old one, a bit heavier too. The blade at the end seemed sharper, a bit more curved too. An eagle was ready to fly at the other end and Anders smiled. It was a beautiful staff, of the same grey of his pauldrons.

“I like it. Thank you, Fenris.”

“Try it.”

“Now?” Anders asked, surprised that the mage-hating warrior would ask him to cast a spell.

“Unless you wish to return to Hawke in the dark” he said before his markings faded and they were both drowned by the darkness.

Anders' breath caught in his chest and he whimpered a few words before the crystal beneath the eagle started to glow faintly.

“It's not very powerful” Anders commented with a frown.

But suddenly, it lit up green and they both closed their eyes with a growl.

“Maker, forget I said anything.”

“Control it, mage!”

It took seconds before Anders learned how to handle his new weapon and a satisfied grin stretched his lips.

“See? Now I have a staff that's worth my talent.”

“Let's hope it'll make you more useful on battlefields!” the elf said with a sardonic smile.

Anders stared at him again, at the emerald eyes that seemed to shimmer with the matching green light from the staff, at the white hair that reflected it, at the curl of lips on white teeth. His heart didn't slow down even if he wasn't in the dark anymore. And then he shrugged and turned on his heels. Fenris shook his head. The mage had not replied. That was a first.

“Let's find Hawke before he worries.”

 


	2. Crazy tainted people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for those who didn't play 'Legacy' I know it can be upsetting, for I have read stories where it's mentioned befor eI played it. If you don't wanna be spoiled, you can skip the chapter, it will do no harm. Just make sure you read the last paragraph, I guess it says pretty much everything about what the story will be about.

They followed Hawke, trying to hold back the words that threaten to escape their lips. Of course Hawke had a way of calling for trouble, even asking for them, begging for them. How would he explain then that now some odd dwarves from the Carta with weird eyes wanted his blood? And that he found some weird… stuff that transformed itself into a staff? And that…

“I'm not listening... I'm not listening!”

Every gaze turned to look at Anders and Hawke huffed, Varric shrugged and Fenris rolled his eyes.

“The abomination's hearing voices. How unexpected.”

Anders glowered at Fenris. The elf would never understand, what was the burden the former Grey Warden was bearing. So obsessed about himself, about his hunt, his former master, his former life as a slave. So oblivious to others, to suffering, to injustice. So oblivious to everything. When would he finally open his eyes?

“More Deep Roads. Why did we agree to do this again?”

“This isn't so bad, Blondie. You could be losing more coin to the elf in a game of Wicked Grace.”

Anders grunted and glowered at Fenris who smiled brightly in return.

“At this rate, I'll still be paying him back when I'm dead”

They were interrupted by Darkspawn running to meet them and in a few seconds they were all ready for a good fight. The mage raised his staff and suddenly a storm of fire fell upon the foes. Fenris had had barely the time to rush forward and slaughter an enemy who passed through the tornado of flames before the battle was over.

“That was quick.” Varric commented. “Blondie, you're all right?”

“I'm… fine.”

Anders furrowed both his eyebrows and huffed heavily. His eyes went wide and he dropped his staff. A green light escaped the giant crystal when it hit the floor and the abomination took his head in his hands.

“No! Get out of my head!”

Fenris took a step forward, but Hawke was quicker. A hand on the mage's shoulder, he squeezed it gently.

“Anders. It'll be all right. Focus on my voice, don't listen to Corypheus!”

But when Anders looked up, his eyes widened again and his heart stopped beating, like it was falling in his chest. He forgot, sometimes, what it meant to be what he was. He had been happy as a Grey Warden. Happier than expected. But this… this was crazy. Hollow silhouette in rusty Grey Warden armor, wild eyes, filled with the Taint, decaying corpse. Taint spreading in the body like illness. Death spreading. The Calling.

“The key” the man exclaimed, running towards Hawke like an evil creature.

His identity was lost. Living here for some time now, corrupted and yet still human, a little bit. Anders was facing his future and he could not handle the sight of it. He felt sick, so sick, and so tired. The price for a sacrifice. The price for fake freedom. All those people who chose to dedicate their lives to protection, to the Darkspawn, to the Blight. Anders had never wanted to be a hero. He just wanted to be free.

“Yes.. I can show you out.. Yes”

The Grey Warden was talking nonsense, drowning into his own madness. The Taint was eating his mind as well as his body.

“Because I always like to follow the advice of tainted crazy people.” Hawke said on a sarcastic tone.

“Never stopped you before!” Fenris commented with a pointed look towards Anders.

The mage glowered again. Maker, he hated this elf so much!

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind” he answered and Anders would have replied if not for the voice inside his head that drew his attention again.

The man left them. Only after he said that the only way out was down. Down in the depths. And Anders closed his eyes. It was too much. The itch in his mind because of the Darkspawn nearby, the oppression of the walls of the Deep Roads he hated so much, the voice of Corypheus calling for him, Justice roaring because he was fighting against it, the realization of what his future truly held, and this infuriating elf who didn't stop teasing him with things he could not understand, with wounds that never healed with time, with dark fate that was waiting for the mage. And now, now he learned that he had to travel down again, in depths he feared, in dark, in narrow spaces, in corridors he knew all too well, where he had lost friends and where belonged his worst nightmares.

“You speak of disliking the Deep Roads a great deal. Why?”

Anders almost laughed. Was he really trying to understand, the broody warrior? Was he interested in something more than himself and his hatred for magic, for once? Could he? Was he able to see that he was not the only one the past could hunt with so much strength everything would be tainted by it? Fear of dark. Of narrow spaces. Of enemies coming to slaughter him while he was praying to see the sky again. A year in solitary did these kind of things to a man. Make him fear things that was part of life. Make him fear life sometimes. Maybe Anders had wished death when he was there, locked up in that tower, praying for the year to be over. No matter how hard he hated the elf, he would have wished this treatment to no one. Especially not Fenris. Because Anders could understand they all had their share of horror, unlike the elf.

“Besides the obvious, you mean?” he simply answered, keeping the dark thoughts quiet.

If there was one person he would share his scars, it wasn't Fenris.

“It's a dangerous place, but less so for a Grey Warden.”

So easy to jump on conclusions, to be satisfied by what one could see, seeking no further truth that the one that was obvious.

“Darkspawn this, darkspawn that. Taint, taint, taint, taint, taint. After a while, you just get so tired of it, you know?”

Tired. So damn tired. So fucking damned tired of everything.

“ I... do now.”

Anders raised an eyebrow and looked at the elf. Was this some kind of understanding? Maybe the warrior would say that only so that Anders would shut up. Or maybe… Fenris was staring at him and Anders' heart missed a beat. Deep emerald eyes, a frown, a light curl of lips. Even when Fenris' features seemed to show some emotion, it was impossible to guess what he was thinking. Anders cleared his throat and looked away, though he could feel the ex-slave's gaze on his back as he followed Hawke through rubble and dust.

“How can anyone live here? What do the Darkspawn feed on?”

Anders welcomed the distraction, looking at the elf again, his face unreadable.

“They don't eat” he answered. “The taint sustains them.”

“Perfect.” the elf just said after a snarl.

Anders expected more than this, but he made no other comment. The elf was as mysterious as unpredictable and it was foolish to try to understand him. Maker, would anyone help him think of something else than the voice in his mind? It was driving him crazy! He had to hold on, to fight it, to show to the infuriating elf he wasn't weak. No, he wasn't weak!

“Stop!” he cried out in despair. “Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!”

“He'll kill us all if he allows his insanity to take him!”

Somehow, Anders was grateful the elf recognized he was skilled enough to be able to kill them. And then he remembered the warrior found him terribly dangerous because of Justice, because of his power, because he was what he never chose to be. And suddenly he was angry again, so angry, Maker. It was unfair! And he wouldn't answer to this Corypheus, whatever he was, whatever this thing wanted from him.  He would not bow before him!  He cried out in pain, taking his head in his hands again, as if it were to explode. Maybe it was!

“What's wrong?” Hawke asked.

“I can't! The voices! Wardens! The Joining! I have too much Taint in my blood. I can't shut him out. Help me! I will not… **be controlled**.”

He could feel him self retire in his own body, being controlled by an entity who refused to be controlled. He fought, fought and fought, but he was weakened. Some powerful magic was keeping  him there, as nothing more than a ghost, a memory, at the back of his mind. Was it still his  own mind?

“I can't take you anywhere.” Hawke commented and Fenris huffed, already raising his sword as Justice hit the ground with his staff, calling two shades to fight by his side.

The elf had waited for a reason to slaughter him. And finally… finally… But, unexpectedly, the elf immediately stopped fighting as soon as Anders was back in his own body, raising a hand in defense, the other arm wrapped around his broken ribs. Fenris stepped back and lowered his sword, frowning in disdain. He turned his back and Anders raised on his feet.

“Thank you. I… I guess they're right. You never can leave the Wardens. I hope I can hold against him... against them both.”

So much for Grey Wardens. 'You never truly leave the Grey Warden'. As if their destiny would hunt Anders no matter how hard and far he hid.  He hated thinking he was not the master of his future. He couldn't believe he was a toy in the Maker's hands.

“We should take some rest” Hawke declared as he glanced at Anders, his face unreadable.

T hey found a spot for a good fortune camp and they settled it, picking what wood they could find in this world of stones, taking old crates as combustible and moving rocks to make seats. Finally, Anders summoned fire and a giant flame appeared, eating the planks  almost too quickly .

“Whoa, Blondie, what's wrong today? You're powerful!”

Anders raised an eyebrow and murmured a sardonic 'thanks'.

“Though you look like shit anyway.”

The mage laughed a little.

“That must be the voices inside my head. And the itch because of Darkspawn. And Justice harassing me. And the smell and the dark and the...”

“Maybe you shouldn't have come.” Fenris stated.

“Really? I was thinking the opposite! What did you expect?”

“I don't know. A healer and Grey Warden should be useful in the Deep Roads. Not a liability.”

“Andraste's withered ass! You're...”

“Didn't I say we should rest?” Hawke asked as he sat on the floor, leaning against the rock, and stretched his legs. “I'm gonna have a nap and I suggest you both shut up so I could sleep.”

“Hawke, you can't sleep right now! Your snores will gather every damn Darkspawn right here!”

“More than the two glowing things bickering? I don't think so!”

“Glowing things?” Anders repeated, frowning.

“Don't get me wrong, you both are terribly hot with all the blue light and the 'I'm-terribly-dangerous-and-I'm-gonna-feed-you-your-own-limbs' but let's face it: you're...”

“Hey, hey, hey, there, Hawke. I think Blondie and Broody...”

“Should get out of here!” Anders finished for him as he stood up and walked away.

Fenris followed him and the mage huffed. What did the elf want now? 

“Fenris, please. I don't need any speech about...”

“Don't stay in the shadows, mage.”

“What?”

Fenris sighed in annoyance and didn't repeat what he said.

“Just remember we're behind you. All of us.”

“Including you?”

“All of us.” Fenris confirmed before he left the mage.

The mage didn't know. The mage didn't see for Fenris didn't wish him to see. It had been so long now he could not remember how it began. This feeling inside of him. He had entered the scenery of love without a complain, his heart picking someone he'd never have chosen in the first place. But there was no such thing as choice, it seemed. Oh Maker, he had hated him. Hated him with so much strength he had come to love him. And now all he could do was playing the game of mutual loathing, because he despised him as much as he desired him. He didn't want to give in into this insane feeling every time he got closer to the mage. He fought and fought and struggled. And failed everytime the man would smile at him, glower at him, speak to him, provoke him, hate him. Such weakness as feeling was not something he allowed. First rule of survival. And yet he would have gladly abandoned everything for the blonde man. For Anders, the mage from the Anderfels, the Grey Warden of Ferelden, the apostate of Kirkwall.  For Anders, who had stood by his side during all these years, great speeches about freedom and oppression, lame jokes about templars, fear of the dark, fear of the Deep Roads, fear of the past. So much hanging on to something that existed no more and yet struggled to remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, I wanted to write a story where one of them is already in love. I've never written this kind of romance. Actually, I generally never write romance, except for fenders (hard to write a romance for someone who doesn't believe in love. REALLY hard, trust me!). I like writing them falling in love but I've never written something with one of them trying to... seduce? the other.  
> As you may have noticed, it's more focused on Anders for now, but we'll follow Fenris as well, don't worry.  
> I'm not satisfied with this first chapter but I struggled enough and I don't this story to be some kind of a chore.  
> Don't worry, the next chapters might be lighter. After all, Fenris still like drinking, Isabela never wears pants, Varric is still in love with a crossbow and Hawke... Hawke is still Hawke. that should be enough to add some humour into this, no?


	3. Bleed it out

I t had been days since the Corypheus thing and Hawke was still brooding in  his  big estat e from dawn to sunset . He was grumpy and cranky and picky and Fenris knew better than to add his own bitterness to all this, staying as far as possible from the man when he dared going out of his home, muttering curses all day long. Fenris could hear some words sometimes, like 'Larius' and 'Darkspawn' and 'that crazy dumb assbutt of Corypheus' and 'father'. When it happened, he simply looked at whoever they were with so that they could take care of it. Tonight, he didn't have to, as they were numerous around the table at the Hanged Man. Varric sighed heavily.

“Hawke, it's been a week now. Stop brooding now or I'll have to find a more suitable nickname for Mr. Broody here because you'd have stolen it.”

“Why not Whity?” Anders suggested, looking at Fenris with a mocking smile on his lips.

If Fenris' heart could stop hammering in his chest every time the mage looked at him, maybe he wouldn't be… brooding.

“You named your cat Ser Pounce-a-lot. I don't want to have anything to do with your nicknames.”

“We do know a lot about names, don't we, Fenris?” the mage muttered, looking away as he sipped his alcohol-free drink – whatever it was he was drinking, he didn't like it that much.

The elf tried not to show any emotion as his heartbeat quickened again. He was used to 'Fenris' now, just as Anders was to his own name. The identity they left behind was nothing they wanted in their current life. He tried to decipher the mage's expression but failed, and Hawke drew his attention again.

“Can't believe they used blood magic and pretended that...”

“Stop that now!” Varric interrupted. “Hawke, tonight you play with us and I won't take 'no' as an answer.”

Once everyone had their cards in their hands, silence fell. They were all focused on the game and Fenris could still feel the mage staring at him. He was always staring during the game, trying to win at least once against the elf. He never won. Fenris was used to it by now, as his face remained blank while the mage was furrowing his brows trying to guess the cards he had or his next move. No matter how hard he tried, he never wiped his debts.

“How many sovereigns do you owe me now, abomination?” he teased. “Wouldn't it be wiser to accept your defeat and declare forfeit?”

“Forfeit? You'll learn that I never give up!” the mage replied with a scowl.

“I highly doubt that, Warden.”

As he expected to see Anders upset, Fenris was surprised to read only deep sadness on the mage's features. Then he remembered his face in the Deep Roads, and when he saw Larius. He sighed heavily, guilt worming its way in his heart, and everyone turned questioning looks at him. He shrugged.

“The mage has...” he started but said mage stood up quickly.

“Has a name. The mage has a name.”

He stormed out the door and disappeared in an instant, forgetting his staff left at a corner in the room.

“Fenris...”

Maker, that tone. Fenris looked at his friend and frowned.

“I know, Hawke, I know.”

Fenris dropped his cards on the table and stood up as well, retrieving his sword but not daring to touch the staff – Hawke would bring it to Anders in due time. He headed to Darktown, not in a hurry, dreading being alone with the mage in his clinic at night and wasn't really sure why. More than once he went at the clinic alone, either to apologize or to demand apologies. This time it was his fault they bickered again. He knew his behavior was kind of… misplaced. The mage hated him just as much as he hated templars and Fenris had reciprocated the feeling at first.

He reached the clinic, where he found the mage standing in front of his shelves. He was counting, muttering numbers as his fingers ran in the air, pointing at blue vials, then red ones.

“I should tell Hawke to get more lyrium potions. I don't have enough and it's damn expansive. If he keeps dragging me along his insane quests then he buys the lyrium potion.”

“That would be just indeed.” Fenris said.

He thought he would startle the mage, but the abomination just shrugged, counting again, as if he had talked to Fenris, knowing he was here, and not to himself.

“Sorry I entered like that.”

“I always know when you're near, Fenris. All that lyrium is… intoxicating. I felt you coming. Why are you here?”

“I have offended you.”

“Not the first time. You can count all the 'mages', the 'abominations' and all the times you suggested to turn me in, to make me Tranquil, the times when you said I was a fool, called Justice a demon and...”

“Fine, fine. I am sorry I implied you gave up the wardens. I, however, do not intend to apologize for all the rest.”

“Fine, knife-ear.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows and felt his heart fall in his chest as he stared at the mage's back. Really? Was it really how it felt like to be insulted? Fenris had been insulted his whole life, called a thing, a toy, a pet. He was a slave. But he never felt anything like this. Did it matter who said the insult? Was Anders hurt because he was insulted or because Fenris insulted him?

“I'm sorry.” Anders muttered.

The mage turned on his heels, shaking his head, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I am… just angry.”

So, so damn angry. Anders was looking at white hair, green eyes, lyrium tattoos, and he felt the same anger he could hear in Fenris' voice when he spoke about Danarius, about the magisters, about his time as a slave. They revealed in it. But Anders knew how to control it.

“At me.”

“Of course! What did you expect?”

“I...”

“How much do I owe you know? How many sovereigns have I lost to the broody elf?”

Fenris accepted the change of subject and just shrugged.

“I lost count. Why do you keep betting when you know it's hopeless?”

“It's never hopeless!”

That was this kind of answer that always raised feelings inside Fenris' chest. He felt it tighten as he saw the deep faith burning in amber eyes. So foolish. And this voice. This damn voice, saying so many senseless things. He wanted to hear it beg for release, say sweet words, dirty words, whisper 'Fenris' in a dark room filled of their mixed scent.

“I might be willing to wipe your debts.” Fenris suggested, his voice blank but his voice betraying his teasing.

“Really?” the mage asked, taking a step forward, staring at green eyes. “And what do you want in return?”

Another step and they were two feet away, staring at each other. Fenris looked at the blonde strands that were hiding amber eyes and he fought the urge to reach, stretch a hand, stroke a cheek, cup a jaw, lean and meet warm lips, part them to allow a hot tongue in his own mouth, hands on stubble and… He cleared his throat and looked away.

“I'll think about it.” he just said and thanked the Maker his voice was steady when he spoke.

“Really? And here I thought the answer was obvious. Isabela's right: you're no fun.”

When his gaze locked again in warm pupils, he saw amusement and a smirk stretched his own lips despite his best instinct not to show anything. Though his eyes quickly focused on something else, as a slow and thin river of blood ran down the mage's face.

“Your nose is bleeding, mage.”

Anders sighed and wiped his nose with an already stained sleeve. The blood was fresh.

“It happened on my way home” he explained under Fenris' questioning glance.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Do you care?”

“I don't!”

_I do_.

“Then don't ask.”

The mage looked at his sleeve and sighed as he felt the river still flowing from his nostrils.

“Why don't you heal yourself?”

“Oh Maker! How many times have you asked this question? In battles, after battles, after a bump in the elbow, after you hit me...”

“It happened only once!” Fenris interrupted, scowling at the memory. “And you deserved it.”

“Undoubtedly.” he conceded, still staring at Fenris as blood drop fell on the floor.

Anders had replied to whatever Fenris had said with a 'Yes, master' full of disdain and that had earned him a good punch right in the face.

“So are you going to heal that?”

“How do you think it stopped the first time? Though I'm not going to do it the whole evening. I'll just lay down and it'll pass.”

“Do you say that to your patients? Lay down and it'll pass?”

Fenris' concern was turning in anger again. So easily. He wanted to tell the mage to rest, to take care of himself and worry about his health, but he knew better than to show his vulnerability. He had become a liability on the battlefield, so focused on protecting the mage that he forgot more than once to block an attack and ended under Anders' careful glowing hands as he healed the worst injuries, and suffering the abomination's whining about how he wasted his mana on a reckless broody elf.

“You're unfair.”

“I'm realistic. You're your own patient and you'd be a poor healer to...”

“Are you going to leave now?” the mage yelled suddenly as he turned on his heels. “Unless you wanna 'mage' me again and tell me how stupid I am, how evil I am, how...” his voice broke and Fenris just saw him collapse on his bed in the other room.

The warrior sighed again and smiled when he heard Anders' breathing. He was already asleep, mouth open wide to breathe correctly despite the blood filling his nose. Fenris grabbed the holed sheet and covered quickly the mage with it before turning on his heels and leave the clinic.


End file.
